


Now I'm Standing Here

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Get Together, M/M, Multi, No Epikegster, Parse/Zimms friendship, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, University Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kent loves Jack.  He loves him so much, he's willing to do whatever it takes to see him happy, even if that means giving up on what they could be, for what Jack wants--Eric Bittle.  If only Jack and Bitty weren't so damn dense about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Today was rough, and my queer, polyamorous heart just needed some self-indulgent fluff. So here's an AU where Epikegster never happened, Jack and Kent made up and are friends. Kent has good intentions, but his poor heart always gets in the way. Sigh. Oh well, happy ending, I promise.

Kent stared at the scene in the kitchen. Jack chirping Bitty, Bitty throwing flour on Jack. Jack waxing poetic about his prospects, Bitty listening with his eyes practically glowing hearts. Hip-checks and standing too close and soft smiles.

Kent knows what love looks like. He’s had it before, and he still loves Jack enough to want to see him happy. And he likes Bitty enough that his jealousy over the blonde baker isn’t enough for Kent to want to stand in the way.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

So he books himself more flights to Samwell than he rightfully should, and uses up as many healthy scratches as he can, and even fakes a couple of lower body injuries.

It’s in the late afternoon just after an exam when there’s a small party going on. Kent is sleeping in Jack’s room for the weekend, on a shit camp bed which Holster managed to rummage up from god only knows where. It has a vague maple scent which Kent absolutely does _not_ want to know about, but it’s comfy enough, and only loses a little air by morning.

Right now there’s a Mario Kart tournament going on in the living room. Winner gets an entire pie which Bitty’s currently baking. Jack is stood at the counter bent over his camera going through photographs he’d taken that week for his final presentation.

Kent leans over, and he doesn’t say anything as he perches his chin on Jack’s shoulder. It’s a testament to their new friendship—to a trust they’re building softly, quietly, that Jack doesn’t push him away. In fact, he shifts the camera to the side so Kent can get a better view.

“What the fuck is that. That’s not even a goose,” Kent says.

Jack laughs. “It’s a gosling. There are about seven of them, but this one was the only one I could get in a decent light.”

Kent hums, and his eyes cut over to Bits who is obviously trying—and failing—not to look at the pair of them. His cheeks are mottled pink and his mouth is tipped down in a slight frown he’s trying to mask. Kent knows jealousy anywhere. It lives inside him, green and ugly, but he can keep it quiet these days because Jack and Bitty mean something to him now.

He breathes out, and watches.

Jack gets to the team section, and the most painfully obvious part of this thing is how painfully obvious Jack is not. It isn’t a surprise to Kent, who has known this man nearly half his life—and loved him for exactly that same amount of time.

Kent fell in love with the bug-eyed, slightly chubby, awkward as hell teenager who was a fucking demon on blades. Kent’s heart was on his sleeve, and skittering across the ice and into the pocket of that other kid. And he’d never bothered to get it back.

And it’s okay. Really.

Right now though, Kent’s watching all the evidence of Jack falling in love again—only this time not with him. It’s with Bitty, who is in nearly every shot. Jack, who managed to capture Bitty in all the best light, with all the natural expression of someone who should be paid thousands, if not millions, for each picture.

It’s not really a testament to Jack’s talent—though he is—and Kent wonders if Jack missed his calling a little bit. But it’s a testament to just how much Jack sees and understands Bitty’s beauty, even if he’s not consciously aware of it.

Something ugly in his gut twists. Just a little. And he bites it back and smiles and squeezed his arm round Jack’s waist as he says, “Nice, Zimms. Your critique will be easy.”

“What the fuck do you know?” Jack chirps, but it’s without venom, and he’s smiling more than Kent thinks he ever has.

“Hush up,” Bitty says. “Kent ain’t lyin’. Those photos are great.”

“You’ve seen them?” Kent asks, surprised, because he knows Bitty isn’t dense, but it seems like he’s just convinced himself that whatever Jack is, he isn’t for him and that’s…well…

“He showed me last week. Been showin’ me during our trips to Annie’s. Made me blush, takin’ half while I was standing right there.” Bitty’s accent, which he attempts to dull most of the time, comes out full force in the kitchen—when it’s just Bitty, Kent, and Jack. Kent fucking loves it in a way he’s loved little else besides Jack’s inability to pronounce the “th” sound, and the way he mumbles when he’s half awake.

Kent doesn’t really want to unwrap all that, though, so he lets Jack go and walks up to Bitty’s side. “Can I help?”

Bitty stares at him, his brown eyes wide and deep like endless pools of mahogany. Kent thinks about Effie and her indignation of mahogany and knows he’d probably react just as viciously and probably a little irrationally if anyone was careless with this man.

Which. Again. He cannot unpack right now.

It’s too much.

He grabs the bushel of apples Bitty shoves at him, washes them, shoves them into the peeler, and presents them ready for chopping. Bitty does that part, and Jack helps with the seasoning, and Kent stirs them as they cook, and Bitty makes the crust.

He lets Kent play with some of the scraps, and Kent puts together really disturbing looking men and demands Bitty bake them.

“No,” Bitty says, and balls them up as Kent cries out in indignation.

“I worked hard on those.”

“They’d come to life and murder us in our sleep,” Bitty says, and Jack laughs and Kent is pretty sure if this were some fucking anime Jack would have hearts around his head. “Holster has made me watch too many scary movies for me to take the risk.”

“I’d eat them,” Kent says with a sniff.

Bitty shakes his head and pokes Kent on the nose which makes his heart flutter and he feels a mixture of want and hate because none of this is fair, even if it’s better this way. “You wouldn’t. You’d leave ‘em in the kitchen just to see if what I’m sayin’ comes true. You two git. I’m going to finish pie. Go watch a movie.”

Kent opens his mouth to protest, but Jack has him by the elbow. The Mario Kart tournament is over, and most of the guys are gone. Shitty’s on the floor letting Lardo try out some fancy as fuck plaits for his hair. Chowder’s curled up on the far side of the sofa, and there’s enough room for Jack and Kent to sit if they squeeze. Kent sure as hell doesn’t mind his thigh pressed against Jack’s.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Kent says softly, just under the tone of the movie Shitty put on. Legally Blonde, apparently. Kent knows it by heart, and Jack doesn’t seem to give a shit.

Jack shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Dunno. Encroaching on your Annie’s dates.”

“Bittle wouldn’t mind you tagging along,” Jack says, his tone infuriatingly neutral. 

Kent just sighs because he’ll either have to spell it out or make him crack, and the latter option is more fun because for all that Kent has grown, he’s still kind of a dick.

Bittle comes into the room not long after the pie is in the oven and he scowls at the taken seats. Kent laughs and pats his thigh. “Plenty of room.”

Bitty’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t say no. He perches himself carefully just above Kent’s knee. The position is comfortable for exactly no one, and finally Kent hitches his arms round Bitty’s waist and pulls him close. His ass makes contact with Kent’s crotch, and Kent knows if he stays this way for long it’ll be enough to get him at least half hard. Bitty will feel it but…

Maybe that’s the catalyst that will break Jack.

Jack’s staring, after all, a little…wide-eyed. His gaze cuts down to where Kent’s hands are still resting at Bitty’s hips, then back up to Kent’s face. He’s resolutely staring at the TV, watching Jack only in his periphery. He doesn’t need full vision to know what Jack’s face is doing anyway.

And really, he’s kind of focused on the way Bitty’s breath hitched, and the way he’s squirming just slightly—enough to make Kent a little out of breath. One hand moves—tentative and soft, to rest over Kent’s and well…

That’s unexpected.

Jack gets a phone call halfway through from Murray and apparently there’s been an incident between some of the frogs and the LAX bros who live across the street. “Captain duties,” he says.

“Want company?” Kent offers.

Jack shakes his head. “Last time this took four hours. I don’t know why they’re like this. Shit’s you’re up.”

Shitty groans and pats the plaits on his hair, then pushes himself to stand. He glances at Bitty who still hasn’t moved from Kent’s lap, then at Jack because yeah—Shitty knows. So does Lardo, from the look of things.

Well.

“You can crash in Bittle’s room if he’s up for it. I might be gone a while,” Jack says. There’s something in his tone and it was _not_ what Kent was originally going for.

Bitty nods though and says, “Fine by me. Just text if you need backup, okay?”

Jack’s face softens and his mouth goes slack like he wants to say something. His eyes cut to Kent’s hand which has involuntarily started stroking along Bitty’s hip and he knows he should stop because this was _not_ his intention.

Jack looks at Bitty again.

Then they leave.

Bitty waits exactly ten minutes, Lardo goes to bed, then he stands. “Come on. I’m beat. Lemme just get the pie out of the oven and we can get to bed.”

He does exactly that. It’s perfectly brown and crisp and looks delicious and Kent thinks that’s sort of a metaphor for the two guys he seems to be pining over. The pie belongs to someone else. Perfect, and would destroy him if he tried to take a bite right now. It would leave searing blisters all around his mouth.

He wonders if the blisters would be worth it.

He follows Bitty upstairs because he’s apparently a glutton for pain. The mattress is easy enough to drag across the hall, and Bitty goes into Jack’s bathroom to change and brush his teeth as Kent strips to boxers and an old Habs t-shirt that used to be Bob’s. He leaves his socks on and sits cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, staring at the small, stuffed bun leant against Bitty’s pillow which is wearing a bow tie.

It’s what Bitty comes back to find in his room, and he laughs, putting the bun on his desk. “He got dressed up fancy for an art show, and he hasn’t wanted to take it off.”

It should be ridiculous but it’s so fucking cute Kent kind of wants to die. He expects Bitty to crawl into his bed, but after being all-but devoured by giant brown eyes, Kent is joined on the mattress. It dips impressively toward the floor, and they shift so they don’t lose their balance, and Kent giggles.

“Not meant for two.”

Bitty licks his lips. “My bed is.”

Kent’s vaguely startled, then he says, “You’re in love with Jack.”

They lock gazes for a long time. “Yeah. Maybe a little bit, but no one ever got anywhere in life pining away for a straight boy, and I know you aren’t.”

“Jack told you?”

Bitty snorts a laugh. “Feelin’ me up on the couch told me. And the way you…I mean I know all about platonic affection. Ransom and Holster have it down to an art, but there’s a way you handle Jack and I know that isn’t all just friends.”

Kent sighs and wants to tell Bitty about Jack, but it isn’t his place. So he says, “I’m not straight, but not in the habit of being back-up to someone who is way fucking better than me. Sorry, Bits.”

Bitty’s face falls and Kent wants to make out with him maybe as a little consolation until he realises it’s not hurt, it’s pity, and Kent doesn’t know how he feels about that. “Oh honey.” Maybe not pity. Empathy which almost feels worse because someone who cares can leave you and he’s not sure he’d recover from that wound. “You deserve someone crushing on you, and I definitely am.”

Kent blinks. “Uh.”

Bitty knows what novel-length questions lie in that simple, ‘uh’ and he shrugs. “You’re an NHL star, you’re gorgeous, and sweet, and funny. You’re genuine, even if you’re an asshole sometimes, and you’d rather set the world on fire than let the people you care about get hurt. So. Yeah. I have a pretty decently-sized crush and I wouldn’t mind kissin’ you a little.”

Kent opens his mouth but stops when he realises he has no idea what he means to say. Because why would he turn this down. He wants it so much he burns, but he knows if he crosses this line there’s no turning back. If he crosses this line, Jack will back off because it’s easier—he’s going into the NHL and Kent has already told him what it’s like being queer and a professional athlete and none of it was easy or good. Jack is better, but he’s never going to be cured and the last thing Kent ever wants to see again is Jack lying on a bathroom floor with an empty pill bottle in his hand because it was all just too much.

He thinks that’s why Jack isn’t letting himself acknowledge how he feels.

He also thinks that if anyone can get him through it all, it’s Bitty.

And it’s exactly why he sighs and reaches out to draw the backs of his knuckles along Bitty’s jaw and whispers, “I want to more than I think I’ve wanted anything. Except maybe Jack. But you’re not for me, Bits. As good as you think I am, I promise…I’m not. And I can’t do that to you.” Then he swallows because it was probably one of the hardest things he’s ever said. “We should sleep.”

Bitty keeps looking sad, but he nods and he stands up. He goes to his bed, but not before he leans in and brushes his lips across Kent’s forehead—the way his mama probably used to do and that just kind of kills him a little more.

Bitty sleeps. He curls up with his bun, under his covers, face to the wall, and he sleeps. Kent lays there until he hears Jack come back in. Kent puts the mattress up against Bitty’s wall, crosses the hallway, and slips into Jack’s room.

Jack sleeps in boxers, socks, and a t-shirt. A live-by-die-by routine for the younger Zimmermann that he learnt from the older Zimmermann. Alicia has albums full of photos of Jack emulating his dad’s clothes, and facial expressions, and hand gestures. It’s almost sit-com levels of hilarious and would be unbelievable if there wasn’t actual, hard evidence.

Kent still sees Bob in Jack’s face. Not hockey Bob—dad Bob. Bob that lives and dies for his kid, and would have given up all of his good playing years if it meant Jack never suffered. But Bob was never good at figuring out this sort of thing, and it all slipped through his fingers.

They’re doing better now.

Jack’s mostly stopped feeling so fucking inferior.

He gives Kent a curious look—not surprise. Kent would eat his snapback if Jack was surprised to see him creeping over. Jack even holds back the corner of the duvet for Kent to slip in, and they fall into an easy routine carved out of the stone of nearly a decade knowing, then un-knowing, then re-knowing each other.

Kent still fits against Jack like he was always meant to be there. Only Kent can also see a Bitty-shaped space and that feels strange. And good. And bad.

“I thought you’d be staying with Bittle,” Jack says into the dark.

“Why would I?”

“Because you want him, and it was pretty obvious he’d go for it,” Jack says.

Kent fumbles and finds Jack’s hand, and their fingers tangle up. Kent pulls away after a minute, but only far enough so his fingertip can trace old, familiar lines on an old, familiar palm. “He asked if he could kiss me.”

He feels the way Jack stiffens and the hardest part is that Kent doesn’t think Jack even knows yet. Fucking hell. “So…that’s good, right? You can trust him.”

“I know. I do,” Kent says. “He knows I’m not straight.” He pauses, then says, “He thinks you are. Straight, I mean.”

It’s obvious Jack has no idea how to even process that news. “I’ve never…come out but I thought…” He sighs. “Me and you. We’re…not obvious?”

“Jack, we are police-siren obvious. But Bits convinced himself you’re the unattainable straight guy so he doesn’t even let himself go there.”

Kent lets his words hang in the air, not quite outing Bitty’s feelings because he doesn’t want to do that, but he wants to paint with a broad enough brush that Jack might see it.

“There are times when I want to kiss you again,” Jack confesses after what feels like eternal silence.

And fuck if that didn’t just flay him right the fuck open. He chokes, then says, “I think that might kill me.” Then he adds, “Bits, too.”

Jack can assume either. That Bitty will be jealous of Kent. Or jealous of Jack.

They don’t talk again.

They also don’t stop holding hands.

*** 

Kent flies back to Vegas, unsuccessful.

*** 

Graduation comes too fast. Kent’s playing a string of away games, but manages to get off enough time that he can make it, because he’d burn down the Aces arena if it meant getting there for this moment which might be the single most important thing Jack has done in his life.

He gets hugs that are too warm and too tight, and way too much love than he deserves from Bob and Alicia—who never let him think that way, but he does. Sue him.

He gets a lot of fucking fist-bumps from SMH. He gets a little weepy when Shitty takes the stage. Jack is one of the last to walk the stage and for that he gets a sopping wet shoulder because Bitty’s holding him and crying.

Kent holds him tight, his heart in his mouth, right between his teeth ready to be crushed. Bitty’s in agony and Jack still doesn’t get it. They’ve had a hundred dates and neither of them realise it, and they’re right there. They’re steps away.

It takes an age and a half for Jack to make his way back to everyone. He’s hugging and taking photos and smiling more than he normally does. Kent knows what Jack’s last night was like. He has texts from Bitty showing Shitty and Jack kissing the ice. He has selfies of Bitty wearing Jack’s coat, huddled by a fire—a place they _should_ have finally made it work, but didn’t.

Kent has several texts of Bitty trying to be okay as Jack sits across the hall packing his final boxes and singing Georgia on my Mind and Kent wants to just reach through the fucking phone and shake Jack until Jack fucking gets it.

Kent should have realised it would take Bob to make it work.

That it would take the man Jack was always terrified of not being enough like, to hold him by the hand and remind him that he misses a hundred percent of the shots he doesn’t take. Leave it to Jack fucking Zimmermann to not fucking _get it_ until it slaps him in the face with a fucking hockey puck.

Then he’s running for it, and Kent pretends like his heart isn’t breaking right on that field. He’s hiding it pretty well, he thinks, until Bob draws him close and whispers, “It’s not over yet, mon fils.”

Kent doesn’t know what that means, but Bob’s tone is so full of hope that Kent can’t help but be infected by it.

*** 

They sit through dinner and Jack is smiling, and there’s something off and Kent wants to demand what. He wants to demand they drive back to the haus and talk to Bitty except Jack mentions Bitty’s on a plane to Georgia right now, and Kent wants to break things.

Until he doesn’t. Because Jack has him outside, against the wall, and is kissing him.

It happens slower than that, of course. It happens with Jack shuffling his feet, breathing, and confessing, “I like Bittle. I…kissed him.”

Kent blinks. “You kissed him. After all this time. Finally.”

Jack is dense, but he’s not that dense. He can read Kent like a book most of the time—when he wants to. He flinches. “I kissed him, and I ran. Because you were waiting and I…” He stops. “You like him.”

Kent nods, then shrugs and squeezed his eyes shut. “Like you too, but I know for damn sure the pair of you are better for each other than I would ever be so…”

“No.”

The word is so forceful, yet so quiet, Kent goes silent in order to listen. He hears Jack take a breath through his nose which is what makes him look up again. “Jack I…”

“Shitty once sat on my bed, stoned and naked, eating pie out of one of Bittle’s tins and getting fucking crust all over my blankets. He spent an hour going on and on about how the idea that one person is destined to love just one person is absurd. That it happens, but it doesn’t always happen, and the fact that people are crammed into these tiny boxes labelled his-and-hers, and man-and-woman was gross and offensive.” Jack chuckles, and Kent is confused, but he nods because clearly this is going somewhere. “At the time it was because Lardo was in love with Camilla.”

“Your Camilla?” is all Kent can really focus on.

Jack rolls his eyes. “Four dates. She was never mine. Lardo had come out as genderfluid. Camilla and Lardo started dating, but Lards was still in love with Shitty and it was confusing not because he was unhappy with the relationship, but because he knew people would never understand. I…get that fear.” Jack swallows, and runs a hand down his face and Kent wants to kiss away the distress. Instead he balls his fingers into tight fists, nails cutting into his palm. “I get that, because I have feelings for more than one person. And so do you, and so does Bittle and it doesn’t make sense we’re torturing ourselves over this when the solution is so simple.”

It might be the most Kent has ever heard Jack speak outside of drunken teenage ramblings. It’s certainly the most passionate, and the most wanting, and Kent thinks, _I don’t know you_. And he thinks, _I need to know this new Jack._

He says, “Is it? Is it simple?”

“It can be,” Jack says, and crowds into Kent’s space slow enough to give him time to pull away. Nothing on earth will make him pull away. “Kenny,” he breaths.

Kent’s hand comes up, tentative and slow, and it curls round the side of Jack’s neck. “When the fucking fuck did you become so smooth, Zimms?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s my natural gift finally catching up to me.”

Kent laughs, and the last thing he says before Jack kisses him is, “I know both of your parents. They’re awkward nerds, just like you. Whatever this is, I don’t expect it to stick around.”

Then he shuts up because Jack’s lips are on his for the first time in years and holy fucking shit it’s better than any cup and any trophy and any ring he’s ever had in his hands. He’s got two fistfuls of Jack’s shirt, and he’s got a knee rubbing against his crotch. The bite of brick against his back is uncomfortable, but it’s good because it’s keeping him grounded, keeping himself from losing any coherent thought and dropping to his knees and just fucking blowing Jack right there in the alley.

They pull away eventually and Jack says, “When do you fly out?”

And Kent laughs. “Tomorrow. I have a hotel room tonight.”

Jack’s grin is soft, and his hand is still on Kent’s face, like a ballast. “I think my parents can function without us for a night.”

*** 

Before anything can happen, Kent sends a selfie of him and Jack—kiss-stupid and grinning—in a snap that says, **Be our boyfriend, Bits.**

They get one of Bitty back, holding his bun, and looking nervous. _If y’all are chirping me, I’ll destroy you._

The skype sex in the hotel is loud, and confusing, and intimidating. But Bitty’s orgasm noises are heavenly.

All three of them agree to wait, so they can sit and talk and figure out what all this means. But it’s the start of something beautiful. And as Kent lays there holding Jack against his body in a way he never thought he’d be allowed to again, he knows he’s not going to let go.

He’s not going to fuck up this time.

*** 

**Epilogue**

Bitty falls back against the pillows, flushed and sweaty and grinning. Jack’s head is pillowed on his thigh, Bitty’s fingers are in his hair. Kent’s sprawled at the edge of the bed with one hand dangling, fingertips brushing the carpet.

His ankle is in an odd position, his knee crooked so he can push his toes against Bitty’s foot. He needs space, but he also needs contact. They both get it.

Kent’s body is humming with pleasure and fatigue. It’s summer, and it’s fucking hot in spite of the AC, but it’s been a year and it’s almost his birthday and the two people he loves most are right here with him.

He pushes up on his elbows. “Do you think we’d have time to get the sex smell out of the guest room before your parents get here.”

“Kent,” Bitty groans. 

He shrugs. “All I wanted for my birthday was to get fucked in every room. Is that too much to ask?”

Jack and Bitty stare at each other, and both deadpan—Bitty mimicking Jack’s accent in a surprisingly accurate way— “Yes.”

Kent hits them both with pillows.

They laugh, and tackle him with warm hands and soft kisses and he thinks, ‘This is my everything.’

He thinks, ‘I’m never letting go.’


End file.
